


Bathtime

by TadpoleGlee



Category: Black Jewels - Anne Bishop
Genre: Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:56:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TadpoleGlee/pseuds/TadpoleGlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tersa looks after Lucivar for a day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bathtime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Desiderii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desiderii/gifts).



> For Desiderii
> 
> With thanks to Moontyger for the beta.

“No!” Lucivar exclaimed, his black wings fanning the air indignantly. “No want baff!”

Tersa ran her fingers through her hair, and wondered, not for the first time, what had possessed her.

Saetan and Luthvian had had another falling out. Tersa didn’t know - and didn’t want to know - the details, but when Saetan had turned up to escort her and her son shopping, the psychic scent of anger had clung to him like a cloud.

He had also had Lucivar with him. 

Well, you couldn’t take two small, excitable boys shopping with you,not unless you wanted to cause a fuss so she had insisted that Saetan take his namesake off shoe shopping, and she would stay home and look after Lucivar. She had told him, in truthfulness, that her moontime was approaching, and it would be nice to take an easy day.

She snorted, inelegantly. Easy day, her backside.

The baking had been all right. She had used the time to teach Lucivar about the different uses of Craft, and had amused him by floating all the ingredients over to the table. Craft was still new to him, and he clapped gleefully every time something drifted past him. She had smiled at his childish enthusiasm, and wondered when she had lost hers. Before, or after her breaking?

Lucivar had settled down for a nap after a glass of milk and a freshly baked cookie, and she had taken the time to straighten up her cottage a little. Normally, Manny would do it, but the white-Jewelled witch had taken some time off - to visit family, Tersa thought.

It was after Lucivar had woken up again that the trouble had started.

The garden had needed weeding. A nice, easy job. She had gathered up the gardening tools, gathered up Lucivar, and headed out into the sunshine. Although she didn’t need the contact with the earth, it was still soothing to work in the greenery, ordering it, making sure that everything was in its right and proper place. Lucivar had helped her for a little while, pulling out plants with a serious look on his face, his little wings buzzing to help him keep his balance.

But his attention span wasn’t that long and soon he was wandering off.

And that, Tersa assumed, was when he had found the mud.

Lucivar was still muttering under his breath about not needing a wash. Tersa shook her head and turned, looking towards the front door of her cottage. It was sitting open, the whitewashed wood now decorated with several small black handprints that moved upwards until they reached the handle. Her floor, scrubbed and polished, now bore black footprints that made a straight line for the kitchen, and then her main room. Her couch, with its collection of warm throws, now had the muddy imprint of a young boy’s bottom upon them. Everywhere that he had been, Lucivar had left a trail. 

He now stood in front of her, black from his head to his feet, mud starting to dry and flake where it coated his wings. He didn’t look ashamed or sheepish at being caught, only defiant. His father’s son, indeed.

Tersa rested her hands on her hips and met his glare with her own. He continued to meet her eyes for a few seconds before he dropped his head.

“M’sorry,” he muttered.

Not for one moment did Tersa believe that.

“Sorry or not, mucky little boys need to get cleaned up,” she said sternly.

Now Lucivar looked up at her again, eyes pleading.

“No baff,” but this time it was a suggestion, not a demand.

“Yes, bath.”

“No!” and Lucivar ran.

Or rather, he tried to run. As soon as he moved, Tersa held out her hand, her temper spiking, and called on her Craft. It took him a moment to realise, but Lucivar found himself running on nothing but air, and going nowhere. 

“Yes,” Tersa said firmly. 

\----------

The bathroom was spacious, and sparkling white. Unable to lock the door with Jewelled Craft, Tersa settled for keeping a hook of air latched into the back of Lucivar’s shirt: the better to catch him with, should he try to run.

Which he did, the moment that his feet touched the floor.

“Enough,” Tersa scolded him as she hooked him up again, drifting him through the air away from the door. “Bath’s don’t hurt.”

“Do so,” Lucivar argued.

“Little Saetan doesn’t think so. He likes taking a bath,”

“Dae silly,” Lucivar said, although his lip quivered a little at having to call his favourite playmate stupid.

Tersa sighed, and turned her attention to running the bath. Steam started to rise as the hot water spilled out of the pipes, and Lucivar huffed, audibly. She ignored the disgruntled sounds, and concentrated on running the bath. 

She opted out of adding any of her favourite scents and bubbles to the water, and kept it simple and clear. Carefully, she rolled up her sleeve and tested the temperature with her elbow, to make sure that it wasn’t too hot. When it was filled to her satisfaction, she turned off the water, and turned back to Lucivar.

The muddy little boy was hanging dejectedly in the air, throwing the occasional longing glance at the closed door. 

“Now, are you going to be good and get straight in the bath, or am I going to drop you in?” Tersa asked.

Lucivar’s eyes widened. “Clothes?” he asked.

“All of you is mucky, clothes and all. Everything needs washed.”

Despite himself, Lucivar looked charmed at the thought of getting to take a bath with his clothes on, but he still didn’t reply. Tersa began levitating him towards the bath, and Lucivar, out of desperation it seemed, started to flap his wings.

“That’s not going to help,” Tersa said gently, as she started to lower Lucivar towards the steaming water, being extremely careful. Slowly, Lucivar’s feet touched the water, and he gave a little sigh at the warmth. The hems of his pants were soaked in short order, as he sank deeper into the bath.

Finally, he was fully in, standing up to his chest in the warm water. Tersa still supported him with her Craft, although she was starting to feel the drain. Without Jewels, she was limited to her own will, and dealing with small children soon eroded that willpower.

Lucivar lifted one arm out of the water, and looked at his dripped shirt sleeve. “Wet,” he said, and then started to fumble with the buttons. “Sticky.”

“Don’t like having your clothes sticking to you?” Tersa gave him a hand, but let him slide the shirt off his shoulders himself. “I don’t blame you.”

Now that his shirt was off, and he was supported by Craft, Lucivar unselfconsciously stripped out of his trousers and underwear, and left them floating in the bath. “Ick,” he said.

“Ick, indeed,” Tersa gravely agreed.

Keeping a firm grip, and watching out of the corner of her eye, Tersa moved to the big, freestanding cupboard in the corner and opened the heavy doors. She ignored the towels for the moment, and lifted out the simple wooden stool that rested in the bottom of the cupboard. She also lifted out a wire crate that sat next to the stool and, balancing one on the other, carried them over to the bath.

"Here you go," she said, as she set the basket on the floor, and set the stool in the bath. "You can sit on that. Dae does."

"He does?" Lucivar perked up, and pulled himself up onto the stool, water sloshing gently around him. Tersa relaxed her Craft grip a little.

"He does. He also," and she reached into the wire basket, "likes to play with some toys."

Lucivar reached out for the bright yellow soapstone duck that Tersa offered him, and dropped it in the water where it floated, until he poked it under the surface. It bobbed up again, and he giggled. Tersa laughed.

Each time that Lucivar grew bored with one of the toys, Tersa popped another one into the bath. The duck was joined by a school of wooden fish, a rope sailboat, and a sponge cut into the shape of a Jewel. Lucivar waved this over his head, showering Tersa with water.

With the dirt soaked and loosened, it wasn't difficult to wash him, the only difficulty was in keeping him still long enough. Tersa had to drain the water and refill so that she wasn't washing him with dirty water.

The heat and his age soon got the better of Lucivar, and he was starting to drowse on the stool, eyes heavy- lidded on his nodding head. His now clean wings were open and dripping dry. Tersa stood and moved back over to the cupboard, feeling her own damp clothes dragging against her skin. She'd have to change afterwards, as well.

Lucivar didn't fight being enveloped in the fluffy white towel, and snuggled deeper into it as Tersa lifted him from the bath after draining the water. She left the clothes, the toys and the stool where they were, and ignored the muddy prints that still decorated her house.

Her cottage was spacious enough for two witches and one small boy, and she carried Lucivar through the main hallway and down towards Manny's room. She hoped the other witch wouldn't mind too much. Lucivar, half-asleep, yawned as Tersa set him down on the bed.

"Sleep, little Lucivar," she said, making sure that he was well bundled in the towels before drawing the quilt up and over him. He smiled and snuggled down, his eyes drifting fully shut. Tersa passed one hand over his brow in a caress, smoothing down his wet hair.

The heaviness and stiffness of her clothes as they dried reminded her that they needed to go and change, but she didn't want leave the small sleeping form. She ran her hand over his head again, separating out the clinging strands of hair, feeling the warm wetness gradually cooling against her fingers.

She knew that she should move: she should get changed, or start cleaning up the mess. Instead, she stayed on the edge of the bed, unconsciously matching her breathing to that of the sleeping child, and stayed there until the clatter of feet in the entryway announced that her son was home.


End file.
